


The Siege of Khazad-dûm

by bunn



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Celebrimbor Lives AU, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned: canon-typical torture, Moria | Khazad-dûm, Second Age, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-03-05 21:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18837394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn
Summary: Rescued from Sauron by Celebrían, Celebrimbor and Elrond fled with her to Khazad-dûm.  Celebrimbor, badly injured in body and spirit, makes a terrible patient.  Galadriel raises some difficult questions.This is a direct sequel toAll Our Old Follies, Come 'Round Again.  That tells the story of the rescue, which was Drag0nst0rm's idea that I fell in love with and simply had to run with.





	1. Reunions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Our Old Follies, Come 'Round Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084071) by [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn), [Drag0nst0rm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm). 



Celebrimbor woke with a start, his hands and wrists aching. That much had become depressingly normal, nowadays. 

But the warm bed, the lamp and the high stone ceiling finely carved with leaves above him was a pleasant change from the cell in Ost-in-Edhil, the chains, and the ever-present dread that the enemy who had seemed so dear a friend would return with some new torment. He felt the sheet with the part of his left hand that was not bandaged, and then looked around with caution at the long room and the warm lamplight, reassuring himself that they were real. 

Angruin, who had been sitting some distance away beside the door, noticed him stir, and came hurrying over. 

“How did you get here?” Celebrimbor demanded. Angruin had been one of the Mirdain, the Jewelsmiths of Eregion. Celebrimbor had assumed him dead like all the rest. 

Angruin, rather to Celebrimbor’s surprise, bowed his head respectfully. Angruin had followed Maedhros through three kinslayings, and Celebrimbor had always suspected that the only reason Angruin now followed Celebrimbor was because Maedhros had told him to. 

“I was visiting Khazad-dûm when the final attack came,” he said in a low voice. “I was at the east end, looking at some emeralds. By the time I got back to the Westgate, it was closed, and Ost-in-Edhil was overrun.” Angruin looked deeply uncomfortable at admitting this. 

“You were supposed to be holding the border, and you went off to look at emeralds?”

“I was off duty,” Angruin said miserably. “I didn’t think the siege would be broken, or not so soon, anyway. I’m sorry, my lord, truly.” 

Celebrimbor sighed. He could not summon the energy to think about what Angruin should or should not have done. “I can hardly reprimand you for not being dead. And as it turned out, your plan was better than mine. I should have sent our people to the Dwarves when first we saw the size of the armies he had brought against us.”

“And leave our city without a blow struck to defend it?” Angruin looked incredulous at the very idea. Most of his people would have felt the same. 

Celebrimbor had felt the same, too, until the orcs had overwhelmed him with their numbers and dragged him off in chains. He raised a hand to dismiss the subject and winced. 

Angruin winced too, and looked away from the bandages on his lord’s hands. “How do you feel?” he asked, “The Lady Galadriel asked to see you, and then there’s King Durin asked me to send to him, when you woke. But if you need more sleep, I’ll tell them both to wait.” 

Angruin appeared to be set on making up for dereliction of duty, even if it meant fending off Galadriel. 

“I feel as if I’ve been tortured, run a truly impossible distance without shoes, and after that had a brief night’s sleep,” Celebrimbor told him accurately. “But I shall not sleep any more for a little while now now, though if you can get hold of some breakfast before I have to talk to Galadriel, that would make up for a great deal.” 

“At once,” Angruin said, looking enormously relieved, and hurried out of the door.

He had been gone only a moment when Elrond put his head around the door. “May I come in, or are you too tired for visitors?”

“I’m awake: come in.”

Someone had found Elrond fresh clothes suitable for his height. He looked more Noldor than usual, wearing them: no doubt they had belonged to someone from Eregion who had left them in the Elvish guest quarters, and was unlikely to need them again.The bruises that had been Annatar’s gift to him had ripened to a painful purple, and one eye was now swollen closed. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow to keep them clear of the bandages around his damaged wrists. Still, he was on his feet and smiling.

“You look a mess,” Celebrimbor said, before Elrond could say it to him. “Sit down! You’re still alive though, and so my oath that you would live is kept. Even if it was Celebrían who kept it for me, in the end.”

Elrond pulled a low, well-padded chair over to the bed and sat down. “Celebrían is a wonder,” he said sincerely. “I don’t think I could have done it myself; all that time hidden right under the Enemy’s nose, and as soon as he gave her the chance, she slipped into his prison and stole his prisoners. And yet she seems so gentle... There will be many songs of her deeds!”

“As if we were in a song about Lúthien, after all,” Celebrimbor agreed. “Though I wondered for a moment there if she was playing Fingon rather than Lúthien. To lose one hand is hard enough; to lose both...” he shuddered at the thought. “Still, we have both come out of it with all the hands we should have. I wish I could say the same for my fingers.” 

Elrond looked at the bandaged hands lying on the white sheet. “Do you think,” he said and stopped abruptly. 

Celebrimbor looked at his hands, which was something he had been avoiding since he woke. There was a long moment of silence. “I don’t know if I shall ever be able to use them again,” he said at last and laughed bitterly. “Perhaps I should swear off it, even if I ever can pick up a hammer.... I fear what he will do with the Nine Rings and the Seven. Or perhaps I should say: the Six. At least the ring I gave to Durin is safe enough.” 

“What he does with them is surely no fault of yours?”

“You think not? It was I who took him in. I who worked beside him, and gave him a hand in making them.” 

“You intended them as weapons of war? To dominate the wills of others?” Elrond asked, his head sceptically a little on one side. 

“Of course not!” Celebrimbor said impatiently. “You know I’ve had more than enough of war. The Seven were for finding and making, primarily, the Nine for healing, and the Three... the Three to preserve the world from time, unstained. But I don’t believe now that there’s anything he can’t twist out of shape. Or, what he would call, into shape.” 

“Well then,” Elrond said, deliberately patient. “You didn’t intend them to be used by him. You didn’t know who he was...” 

“I didn’t know  _ exactly _ who he was,” Celebrimbor said, suddenly feeling very tired. He let his head fall back on the pillows and closed his eyes. “I was pretty sure he wasn’t who he said he was. If he really had been an envoy of the Valar, I would have been more suspicious.” 

Elrond laughed. “Celebrimbor!” 

“I’m not saying that they aren’t well-intentioned. But they aren’t like us. Not that he is, either.”

Angruin returned bearing a large tray loaded with goat’s cheese, ham, sausage and mushrooms. “No bread,” he reported apologetically. “They used to bring it in from Eregion; there’s no bakery inside the mountain on this side. But I brought rye crackers and pickled beets. And honeycomb for Elrond.” 

Elrond looked sideways at him and smiled. “I am many centuries past being of an age where I expect to be bribed with treats of honeycomb, Angruin. But how are you here? I feared you had fallen with Eregion.” 

“I gave him a task to do in Khazad-dûm,” Celebrimbor said. Angruin was proud to the point of arrogance; there was no reason for Elrond to know he had wandered away from the defence of the city.

Angruin visibly hesitated, looking at Celebrimbor’s bandaged hands. “Should I...”

“No,” Celebrimbor told him. Angruin was neither talented at nursing nor temperamentally inclined towards it. “Thank you. Elrond will help me if necessary.”

“I’ll watch the door and make sure you aren’t interrupted,” Angruin said, visibly relieved.

“They seem to have cut everything up small,” Elrond said, inspecting the tray as Angruin retreated. “What would you like?” 

Celebrimbor looked at the tray, tried to flex his fingers, and was overcome by pain and nausea. He took a deep breath and the pain receded a little. He realised with a sense of weariness and futility that he would have to be hand-fed, just as Sauron had fed him, now and again, when he was chained to the wall. “You eat,” he said. “I’m not hungry yet.” 

He had drunk soup with bread sopped in it, last night, when a worried Dwarf had brought it to him, but he had been too exhausted then to think about the implications. 

Elrond gave him a doubtful look. “You look like a dried leaf that might blow away on the breeze. You  _ must _ be hungry. I’m starving, and I wasn’t in Sauron’s clutches near as long as you were. ” He scooped goat’s cheese onto a cracker, and ate it hungrily, then took a second cracker and topped it with cheese and sausage, and held it out. Celebrimbor turned his face away. 

“Being hungry and gloomy only helps the Enemy,” Elrond suggested, and ate the cracker himself. 

Celebrimbor gave an unhappy laugh. “The Enemy. My dear friend, Annatar. I’ve given him enough help already... I thought I was avoiding my grandfather’s mistake, and repairing the harm my father and his brothers did. Instead I have compounded it.” 

He moved his shoulders uncomfortably against the pillows, wondering if Sauron had watched Finrod chained in his dungeons with the same hideous eagerness that he had watched Celebrimbor. Whether he had held a cup to his mouth with such mocking care. He thought of Finrod, welcoming him warmly to Nargothrond after Dagor Bragollach and the long terrible journey through the shadows of Nan Dungortheb. Finrod, shining and brave as he strode out of Nargothrond for the last time. 

He had welcomed Finrod’s murderer as a friend. The thought was sickening. 

Elrond swallowed a large mouthful of cheese and ham. “He would have come for us anyway,” he suggested, which Celebrimbor had to admit was probably true. “If you’d thrown him out, he would only have come back with an army.” 

“With an army, but without the One Ring,” Celebrimbor said bitterly. “We might have stood a chance against him then.”

Elrond shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. All we can do now is try again. Have some of this ham, it’s excellent.” He held out a corner of the dry biscuit, topped with ham and cheese. 

Celebrimbor looked at it. “Try  _ again? _ ” He lifted a bandaged hand to illustrate his complete inability to hold either sword or knife. 

Elrond met his eyes, then carefully balanced the morsel of food on the back of Celebrimbor’s hand, where the skin was still whole. “You’re not telling me that Celebrimbor of the House of Fëanor is going to just lie there and give up; I know you too well to believe that. Eat, and it will heal faster.”

Celebrimbor looked at it, smelling the sharp scent of cheese and salt, and found his mouth filling with warm water. His stomach growled and he swallowed involuntarily. “Tyrant,” he said to Elrond and smiled. “I’m not allowed a moment’s self-pity?” 

“Food first. Then you’ll be less despairing and more angry,” Elrond said, taking another slice of cheese and piling it high with pickled beets. “And I think at the moment, anger is likely to be more use than despair.” 

Celebrimbor gave in and ate the sliver of cracker and ham, and after that, several more that Elrond passed to him, followed by a mouthful of honey scooped onto a small square cake studded with raisins that had probably come from someone’s precious private store. 

He was at least able to carry the food to his mouth himself and choose when to eat it, which somehow felt a good deal better than being fed by someone else’s hand, even Elrond’s. After that, his mouth was dry. He looked unhappily at the jug of watered wine, and rebelled at the thought of having Elrond hold a cup to his mouth. 

“A straw,” he suggested to Elrond. “Or a pipe, perhaps.” 

Elrond gave him a sympathetic nod, and got up painfully, rubbing at his bandaged right wrist with his left hand. It was an oddly familiar gesture, and after a moment, Celebrimbor realised it was because that was what Maedhros used to do. Elrond followed his eyes to his own hand on his wrist, and gave a startled blink of recognition. 

“Angruin will probably know where to find something suitable,” he suggested, and went to the door. 

 

*****

As the day grew and light channelled through long shafts washed the grey wall and floor into shimmering light, Celebrimbor’s room filled with a whirl of Dwarvish doctors: changing bandages, inspecting Celebrimbor’s injuries with solemn dark eyes, applying odd-smelling ointments and chanting spells in deep, ringing voices. Their deep voices were all the more welcome for being nothing like either Annatar’s gentle Elvish voice or the savage crackle of power that ran through his words when he was Sauron revealed. 

Elrond, despite his earlier protestations, finished the honeycomb, and once his own bandages had been changed, sat down to rest on the settle against the wall. After a while, Celebrimbor noticed that he had quietly fallen asleep, and sent Angruin, still mournfully obedient, to find an extra blanket and a pillow for him. It felt good to be able to do something for someone else, even if he needed Angruin’s hands to do it. 

Durin came in briefly, in armour, clearly on his way to somewhere else, bringing the news that so far, Sauron himself had not come to the Gate. They had expected him the previous night, but so far there was no sign of him. 

“Will he come here?” Durin asked urgently, and Celebrimbor had no answer for him. It seemed all too likely that Sauron would come hunting his escaped prisoners with all the persistence of the hungry wolf, but he did not know for sure. 

He asked Durin a question in turn, instead. “Can you hold him off, if he does?” 

“Khazad-dûm has never fallen to an enemy,” Durin replied, “We can hold him if we must. The City of Durin is strong.” He looked confident enough as he hurried away. But then, it was his duty to look confident. Eregion had never fallen to an enemy, either. Celebrimbor too had looked confident, not so very long ago...

Galadriel gave him almost till midday before she appeared, her hair glinting bright in the sunlight that streamed in golden patches from the high carven roof. By that time, thanks to the work of the doctors, Celebrimbor was aching less, and as Elrond had predicted, was closer to anger than despair. 

She gave the sleeping Elrond a look of affectionate amusement and came to sit by Celebrimbor’s bed. “I see you have a bodyguard,” she said. 

“I’m sure he was given a comfortable enough room of his own,” Celebrimbor said, matching her tone. “But he came in to visit me, ate a very great deal and then dozed off. One would almost think he was still a child rather than a great captain... How is Celebrían?”

“Well enough.” Galadriel frowned. “I still thought of her as little more than a child, just old enough to follow me to war by my side where I could protect her. But she slipped away so easily, and now she has returned to me a hero. I’m proud of her, and yet, I feel I have lost something.” 

“She is a hero, and I am deeply in her debt,” Celebrimbor agreed. “We should begin planning a counter-attack immediately. There must be some people who escaped Eregion: how many do you have with you?”

Galadriel looked at him, a glance clear, cool and considering. “Perhaps you should rest and gather your strength before you think of war again.”

“There is no time.” Celebrimbor was seized with urgency; he itched to get up and be doing something. “If Sauron comes with all his power, Durin may not be able to withstand him. I wonder if Númenor will come to our aid. Elrond might know...” 

Galadriel glanced at Elrond, still sleeping and shook her head. “No. You should not ask him.” 

Celebrimbor frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“I am hoping that Celebrian will not come to regret her kindness,” Galadriel said, with precision as sharp and clear as glass. “Can we trust you, Celebrimbor?” 

Now he understood her all too well. This was why she had come to him: to voice her distrust and keep him idle.

She said; “You have been in the Enemy’s hands for many weeks. That alone would make you suspect, but you turned to ally with him of your own will, before ever he came to you in war.”

“He came to me in war because I knew he had betrayed me and I refused to do what he wanted!” 

“That does not make you trustworthy,” she replied. “Even dragons squabble over treasure.”

“I gave up all three of the Rings I made.” He had, of course, given up one of them to her keeping, but he would not risk mentioning that anywhere that there might be listening ears. 

“Yes. But, I wonder now,  _ was _ that for safekeeping? Or was it as an artifice, to trick us for his purposes?” 

“You’ve become very suspicious,” Celebrimbor said, offended. 

“Yes,” she said, and looked at him as if she were calculating his reaction. “Yes, since you turned on me, since you began to seem not so unlike your father and your grandfather as I had thought, since you turned to the Enemy and worked beside him, I have become suspicious. Do you blame me for that, Celebrimbor?”

Celebrimbor glared at her unhappily, which had the unexpected effect of softening her stern expression. “Since I lost my home, the land we built together, since I thought I had lost my daughter, too... I have Celebrían to think of, now. Can you not see why I _ can _ only be suspicious?” 

Celebrimbor could, although he did not like it. He huffed out a breath, and was abruptly reminded of his broken ribs under the bandages. Galadriel had to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and say words of healing to help him stop coughing. 

“Very well,” he said, once he had regained his breath. “I see it. I wouldn’t have said I turned on you, exactly. You  _ chose _ to leave and go East into the woods.” 

Galadriel began to reply hotly, then glanced at his hands, and stopped speaking abruptly. 

Celebrimbor, defensive, thought of her last angry, bitter words as she left Eregion. Proud, she had called him, and grasping, and she had compared him to Fëanor, and not as a compliment. 

She had been unreasonable then, jealous of his achievements, eager to ensure that only she would be named alongside Fëanor as the mightiest of the Noldor...

That was what Annatar had said. 

“We built Eregion together,” he said slowly. “You the prince, and I the architect: that was how we agreed it should be. I should have left it at that and accepted your judgement about Annatar.” 

Galadriel smiled unhappily. “Perhaps I should have remembered that you were born a prince to a house of princes,” she offered. “I could have worded my judgement more carefully, or tried to find more evidence to support my decision.”

Celebrimbor snorted. “No. You were right and I was wrong; events have demonstrated that very clearly. My position may have had some merit at the time, but there’s no point trying to defend it now we know who he is and...” he raised a bandaged hand. “I owe my life and Elrond’s too to your daughter. So. If you say that I should not occupy myself with thoughts of war, I will accept your wisdom.”

“There is nothing wrong that I can see about your voice or in your eyes, or on the surface of your mind,” Galadriel told him, and sighed. “But then, there was nothing clear to see about Annatar when he came to Eregion, either...” She shuddered. “I took his hand. He, who tormented and slew my brother...” 

“That has been troubling me, too.” They sat together in silent thought for a while, remembering Finrod. Neither of them took down the defences of their minds, but still, there was a connection there: the two last leaders of the rebellious Noldor, remembering someone who was dear to both of them. 

Galadriel shook her head with a sudden air of decision. “You have endured terrible things, and you must need time to heal. Will you rest, and give me time to think about this?” 

“I accept your judgement,” Celebrimbor told her. “Or I will try to! You know I’m not very good at lying still and doing nothing.” 

Galadriel laughed. “I remember a little boy who was always busy making something... I’ll send Celebrían to talk to you, would that help? I’d be happier if she was away from war. At least until I’ve had a chance to get used to my daughter, the hero.”

“Talking to Celebrían is always a delight. And... She deserves joy and safety. They both do: she and Elrond both. I understand why you need to be careful, Galadriel.”

Galadriel smiled. She stood to leave, and then turned back to him, smiling now with an air of mischief that he had not seen on her face for a long, long time. “I warn you, she will probably bring that hideous hound with her... she has wanted one of those for her own since first we saw them in Lórinand. I said no, but I can hardly keep saying it now!”

Celebrimbor laughed. “I grew up riding Huan. Let Celebrían bring her hound to visit, I would be delighted to see him, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since someone asked:  
> 1) a pipe. Although this is too early for Dwarves to be smoking pipe-weed, perhaps they were smoking something else? The long stem of a new clean pipe might be suitable as what we would now call a straw. Or possibly Celebrimbor is thinking of one of a set of pipes, in the sense of a musical instrument. I don't know if the Dwarves would actually have a straw in the sense of a long dry grass-stem suitable for allowing a badly-injured elf to drink with some dignity. At any rate, no, I wasn't thinking of the plumbing sense! 
> 
> 2) Galadriel as a prince (rather than a princess). Galadriel is described as standing 'among the princes of the Noldor' when the Oath was sworn, and so I have chosen to use 'prince' for her, in the sense that Elizabeth I of England used it for herself. Although Galadriel is also a princess, in that she is the daughter of a king, Celebrimbor is here referring to her status and public role as a leader, not her sex or identity.


	2. The mountain sings

Elrond had not really intended to go back to sleep at all, but the deep voices of the Dwarves singing softly around Celebrimbor’s bed made his eyelids heavy, as the remaining ache of the whip-marks and the stiffness in his legs from the long frantic run to the walls of Moria lifted away from him, leaving him feeling strangely light-headed. 

When he next opened his eyes, the doctors were gone, and the light coming down long shaft from the mountainside above had shifted to a golden hue that showed he had been asleep for some time. Someone had tucked a short dwarf-blanket over him, and draped another over his feet. 

Celebrimbor, propped up on cushions, was regarding him with some amusement.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would sleep the day through,” he said.  “Or has sleep made you hungry again?”

Elrond had eaten well that morning, and felt no particular need to eat again, but Celebrimbor even in the golden afternoon light looked drawn, grey-faced and haggard and painfully thin. If Elrond ate, then he would probably be able to coax some food into Celebrimbor too. 

He smiled deliberately. “Of course,” he said cheerfully. He got up, feeling stiff and resisting the temptation to touch his black eye, which from the feel of it was now impressively swollen, and went to investigate the jug. It proved to be full of honeyed ale. Beside it was a platter of dried apple and bilberries and slices of salted sausage.

“You missed Galadriel’s visitation,” Celebrimbor said, ignoring the food. 

Elrond filled Celebrimbor’s cup with its long curving silver straw, and poured another for himself.

“What did she say?” 

“Even dragons squabble over treasure,” Celebrimbor told him, frowning. “And that, having chosen to listen to Annatar, I am not trustworthy, and should not be involved further in the matter of the war. Except as bait, presumably.”

“She said that?” 

“Well...not the part about bait. She said that I needed time to heal.” 

“Did you expect her to say anything else?” 

Celebrimbor sighed.  “Not really. ‘Artanis is at her worst when she is right,’ my father used to say.”  He shot Elrond a sharp sideways look, and Elrond thought quickly. Celebrimbor did not usually mention his father so freely, and trust could be a sore point for him. 

But there was a great deal more at stake here than Celebrimbor’s feelings, and as usual, Elrond could not stand entirely with either him or with Galadriel either. 

“You’re worrying too much, cousin,” he said; a reminder to both Celebrimbor and himself. “I sympathise heartily with the urge for revenge, but taking a little time to recover will surely do no harm but only good?” 

“Perhaps. Do you, like Galadriel, expect that Celebrían will regret her kindness?” There was a biting sharpness in Celebrimbor’s voice that did not entirely mask the vulnerability underneath.  It was that vulnerability that Annatar had exploited: that need to be outstanding, and to be recognised as such, compared even to his famous grandfather. And he was, of course:that was part of the tragedy. He had never needed any renegade Maia to assist him; Elrond was entirely sure of that.

“I very much hope Celebrían will have no cause for regret, since she saved me too,” Elrond said, and gave him another cheerful grin. “Circumstances have made me something of an expert in determining how and when members of the House of Fëanor can be trusted, after all.  I value Galadriel’s wariness, but there can be no question that we’re stronger with you inside the mountain. And happier too: you can’t really think that Galadriel wishes you still his prisoner. Durin certainly doesn’t, he was practically dancing with delight when I spoke to him earlier. He couldn’t be happier that you escaped.”

“Durin is a gem among gems,” Celebrimbor said, and sighed. The proud tension visible in the way he held his thin scarred neck relaxed. “I must get out of the habit of looking for hidden meanings in Galadriel’s words.  We have a shared Enemy...” He shook his head, annoyed. “I hate feeling like a fool. I hate that she saw through him, and I didn’t! And you, for that matter.” 

“If I’d seen through him more effectively, I would have arrived with my host in time to save Eregion,” Elrond said wryly.  “I was too late. Galadriel and Amdir, too, and Durin... You know, Celebrimbor, I think it’s possible that Sauron is, in fact, a formidable enemy who is both very clever and very strong. Of the two greatest of the Noldor, one tried to befriend and understand him, and one tried speaking no word to him, and neither was a fool.  Yet, there he is.”

Celebrimbor narrowed his eyes.  “You’re trying to make me feel better.” 

“Yes! Of course I am!” Elrond exclaimed, letting go of patience at last. “But it would be easier if you would _let_ me. We have enough trouble without you and Galadriel being at one another’s throats, and I would rather that you at least stayed in bed for more than a day, rather than racing out — _again_ —  to attempt heroic single combat out of some misguided idea of guilt!  I assume that’s what it is, anyway. I can’t imagine that someone as brilliant as you are really thinks that single combat is an effective way to win a war.“ 

Celebrimbor’s thin face looked startled, and then oddly concerned. “I didn’t think it was an effective way to win a war,” he said. “It was the only option left to me,other than surrender. Elrond, are you... are you well?” 

“Of course I am. I’m free and alive, and so are you.  But I’d be happier if you could just manage to _stay_ that way,” Elrond told him, and found his voice unexpectedly cracking as he said it. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. 

“I do not intend to attack Sauron in person,” Celebrimbor said, still with that odd, uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice. “I tried that — not my first choice, believe me — and it was as disastrous as I expected it to be.”

 _You could have run_ , Elrond thought, privately behind the seals of his mind.  _I would have run.  Elros would have._   But there was no point saying it. Celebrimbor would not have chosen to flee if he had the choice to fight, any more than Galadriel would. Elros was a thousand years dead, and perhaps he would not have run.  Perhaps Elrond would not, either, when that choice came to him at last. 

 _If_ it came. No point in looking too far ahead.  

“So you do agree with Galadriel that you need time to heal at least.”

Celebrimbor’s scarred face pulled into a smile that showed a missing tooth, but was nonetheless reassuring. “I did say she was right, didn’t I? But I hoped to find out what forces remain to us and where the enemy is. For too long I have only had the few snippets of information that Sauron chose to give me, and I am sure that those were full of lies.  But then, Galadriel feels I should not be trusted with such information...I was hurt by that, but I did not argue with her, I promise, and we are certainly not at one another’s throats. I doubt you would have slept through it if we had been.”

“Now you’re trying to make _me_ feel better,” Elrond observed. 

“Did it work?” Celebrimbor gave him another gaptoothed and hopeful grin. 

“More or less.  Elrond glanced over at Amdir’s sword hanging on the settle.  “You could promise me a new sword, if you want to cheer me up. I doubt I’ll see my old one again. Amdir’s is shorter than I’m used to, and to my hand, it feels oddly balanced.”

Celebrimbor looked down at his broken bandaged hands, and made a face. Then he met Elrond’s eyes, his face grim with determination.  “I’ve never liked making swords. But the situation calls for it. I will discuss it with Angruin and we will have something suitable made up for you as soon as possible.  I shall need one too, I hope, but that can wait a little. ” 

“Thank you!” Elrond said and smiled. It might be that Celebrimbor’s hands would never hold a sword again, but if will alone could make them do so, then Celebrimbor’s would. “I’d be happier still if you ate something.” 

“You don’t give up, do you?  Very well then Elrond. I would very much like some of that sliced apple. Would you pass it to me, please?” 

When Celebrían came knocking on Celebrimbor’s door, Elrond almost did not recognise her at first.  When Celebrían had come into their prison, she had been wrapped in armour and a cloak, her pale hair caught up into dirty tangled braids and her eyes wide and wary. 

 Now her long hair streamed down her back, silver-gilt and curling, her face was bright with a smile, and she wore a long green dress adorned with many golden flowers. In the shadows of the caverns of the Dwarves she shone like a young tree in spring sunshine. Elrond found words of song coming to his lips unbidden. 

 _Oh lady fair of Middle-earth_  
_With strength and kindness doubly blessed_  
_Within your eyes like stars I see  
_ _A wisdom more than I possess..._

She laughed as she stepped into the room, and the spell was broken. “I don’t think I want to lay claim to great wisdom, although it is a very lovely verse” she said. “I’ll keep to kindness, I think, and leave the strength and wisdom to my mother: she’s better at it!  How are you both feeling now? You look every so much better, Elrond.”

“I certainly am,” Elrond said and smiled, feeling that even a world with Sauron outside the gates was a better place for Celebrían within them. “Celebrimbor and I were just celebrating our release with an afternoon meal.  Will you join us?” 

“I would love to! Celebrimbor, how are you?”

“I am a good deal better than I was,” Celebrimbor told her with gallant good-humour.  “And I will be better still, if Elrond has anything to do with it; he is entirely determined to keep me out of trouble.”

“I would very much like to wrap him in fine silk, like some delicate piece of glass and put him in a box safely on a high shelf,” Elrond admitted with an answering smile.

“But alas!  He has no silk and no box, so he has settled for insisting that I should eat slices of apple.  Have some, Celebrían, they are good. Are you recovered from your adventure?”

Celebrían took a slice of apple, and wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not have any more adventures of that kind.  And nor would my dog, would you, dog? I don’t know what his name is,” she confided to them with a suddenly worried frown.  “He doesn’t seem to want to tell me, if he knows, and I’m not sure if it would be polite to just give him a new name for my own convenience.”

“I am sure he won’t take offence,” Celebrimbor told her. “Call it an epessë, as we say in Quenya, given for his valiant support in war. Nobody could take offence at the gift of an epessë.”

Celebrían ate the slice of apple with one hand, fonding the dog’s ear with the other. “An epessë.  Oh! I know just what that should be! Eglannil.” 

“Friend of the forsaken?  That’s a good name for a dog.”  The dog thumped his tail earnestly on the floor.  Celebrimbor extended a bandaged hand, and the dog’s wide black nose sniffed at it very gently. “He may have been bred for war, but he is a gentleman at heart, are you not, Eglannil?”  Celebrimbor asked him, serious-faced, and Celebrían smiled. 

They ate, Celebrimbor very slowly and carefully around his broken teeth, and talked a little about small things far from war for a little while. 

Then Celebrimbor leant back upon his pillows and waved a broken hand commandingly.  “Go. You have both more than done your duty by the invalid, and I have not forgotten this is a fortress under siege.”

“Not our fortress, though,” Celebrían said.  “It’s Durin’s.”

“And Durin deserves all the assistance that you can give him. I intend to sleep now,” Celebrimbor said, looking entirely alert and wary. 

Elrond gave him a long doubtful look. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll go and speak with Durin.  On one condition. Try to sleep, Celebrimbor. Really try, without planning or worrying. Trust us.  I will come and warn you if the Enemy is moving.”

Celebrimbor met his eyes, unspeaking, and for a moment, Elrond looked into his mind, seeing there anger, doubt, grief, and under it all a deep, bitter terror fenced with weary shame, the terror of the hunted animal that can run no further, that hears the footsteps of the hunter approaching.  

“I will come,” Elrond promised again. _But if there is danger, if the worst comes, we’ll be better able to flee if you sleep now_ , he added silently, so as not to have to say it openly before Celebrían. Not while Celebrían was smiling so lightheartedly . 

But Celebrían was ahead of him. She picked up the small sharp knife from the plate of apples, wiped it carefully, and set it beside Celebrimbor’s pillow. Elrond doubted he would be able to grip it properly in his broken, bandaged hands, but all the same, Celebrimbor looked seriously down at the knife, regarded them both for a moment from the bed, lines of pain tightening at the corners of his mouth.  Then he nodded very slightly, and deliberately closed his eyes.

Angruin was still waiting outside the door.  “He’s going to sleep again,” Elrond told him, hoping that was true. “He asked that we speak with Durin — though I had a mind to do that anyway.  Do you know where he might be?”

Angruin shook his head. “It’s been quiet enough here, I’ve heard no news since the morning. But the last I heard, he was heading back to the Gate.” 

“Thank you. ” Elrond hesitated for a moment and settled for;  “Look after him, won’t you?” He did not wait for Angruin to nod before he set off along the high-vaulted stone tunnel, lit with lamps that stretched away ahead of them, dwindling into the distance.

“And who looks after you?” Celebrían asked, as they headed west and downward, the great hound padding quietly at Celebrían’s heel. 

Elrond laughed, touched by the kindness in her voice, and shrugged. “I am out of Sauron’s foul chains, thanks to you, with only a few bruises. I’ve eaten and rested well enough: I don’t need much looking after. It’s not as if I were heading into battle right away.” 

“Well, if it were _me_ , I think I’d be much more upset,” Celebrían said doubtfully. “It’s not every day that someone escapes Sauron’s clutches. But I suppose you know all about war and so on, and I don’t...”

“I know enough about it to wish that it was all over and done with,” Elrond agreed. “But there seems little chance that we’ll be done with this war quickly. He will not leave Khazâd-dum unassailed, when Celebrimbor himself is inside the gates, and... the Rings. The Enemy is desperate to take them. I can’t find words for the hate, the envy and greed in his voice as he spoke of them...” 

Elrond’s pace slowed, and like a breath of frost at the back of his neck the vision stole into his mind : Sauron uncloaked, pressing Celebrimbor mind and body with all the fearsome power of the Ainur.

Celebrimbor, stripped of every defence and yet, somehow, resisting. Keeping the Three Rings safe and secret for just a little while longer. 

A deep vibration, more felt than heard, rolled through the rock beneath their feet. The lamps flickered, and far ahead, he could faintly hear the deep voices of Dwarves shouting. Celebrían’s bright eyes were wide in alarm. 

“Where is your sword?” Elrond asked her urgently, a hand on the hilt of his own sword.  

“I left in my room. I didn’t think...”

“Go back and get it,” Elrond suggested. “And then perhaps you could go back to Celebrimbor...” 

“I’m not _completely_ useless in a battle, Elrond,” Celebrían said indignantly. 

“I am not such a fool as to suggest that of the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn — not to mention the person who slipped so ably under Sauron’s nose and rescued me.” Elrond told her sincerely, his eyes on the end of the tunnel. “But if our Enemy breaks the Gate, then the battle will be very much coming this way.” 

Celebrían pressed her lips together and nodded.  The dog, Eglannil, looked up at her with round brown eyes and whined, leaning heavily against her leg.

Elrond turned to go, then a thought came to him. He turned back, and caught at Celebrían’s bright daisy-flowered sleeve before she could run off. 

“Celebrían, you should know this now, in case...  I led out everyone that Gil-galad could spare from the defence of Lindon: a fair host, though not near enough. That host now is in a hidden valley.  It’s a good way north near the mountain-passes, far along the River Bruinen where the river runs through tall cliffs. Your father is with them.”  

As he spoke, he painted with his mind a picture, clear and fleeting, of tall cliffs white with the plumes of waterfalls, and a near-hidden path among the heather, leading down through the rocks. Celebrían, with the swift clarity of thought that he had admired in her since he had first seen her, did not question, but looked at the path with careful attention, nodded and set off back along the tunnel at a brisk pace. 

Elrond slid his sword a little way from the scabbard, and grimaced at the clear light glinting from the edges. There was no more sound up ahead, but a little fine thin dust was drifting in the light of the lamps.  Somewhere ahead he could feel dark malice like a storm-cloud looming. He went on. 

But as he turned the corner, he stopped involuntarily, for somewhere ahead of him, Galadriel had begun to sing.

Her song shone clear and strong as truesilver in the moonlight. The thought flashed swift and fearful through Elrond’s mind: _her brother Finrod sang against Sauron. Finrod fell and failed..._

Outside Khazad-dûm, malice was moving, groping blindly, struggling to perceive her guarded mind.  The darkness coiled, baring savage teeth, focussed on Galadriel like a snake upon a bird. 

But Finrod had sung in the tower that Sauron had already made his own, with only ten beside him. Finrod had sung of prisons opening and broken traps, of sand of pearls beyond the Sea. 

Galadriel who long ago had studied in the forges of Aulë, sang of the strength of mountains. 

The great deep voice of Durin thundered into harmony to join her like a deep bell tolling, and then Durin’s thanes were singing with him, words in a language that few Elves had ever had a chance to hear, feet stamping in rhythm.

Their voices rang with a timbre that Elrond found unsettling, and he found himself instead concentrating on Galadriel’s voice, soaring golden on the wings of eagles.  Now, far below Galadriel’s broad wings, another voice was waking, deeper far than Durin’s voice, or any dwarf. It did not sing in any words or language that Elrond could understand.  There was only a deep hum that he could feel in the air around him and through the soles of his feet. It came from all around him, overwhelming, inhuman and _angry_. 

 Elrond covered his ears and went on.  He knew what the voice must be, though he had never heard it before.  Durin had called upon Celebdil, and the mountain had answered. 

Somewhere beyond the rock he could feel Sauron answering, but the sound was faint, drowned out by singing, the rhythm of the stamping feet, and under it all, the all-encompassing voice of the mountain. 

He turned the last corner, hand on his sword-hilt, and found himself looking down the long stairs into the entrance hall. Durin and Galadriel stood together near the barricaded Westgate: two figures very different, united in urgency, and the rest of the hallway and the stairs and the doors to the guardrooms were filled with Durin’s thanes and housecarls, glittering in chainmail and finely-worked helms. As they stamped the rhythm of their song on the hard stone, their mail moved with a heavy metallic rustle, as if their armour itself was an instrument to call music from.

As if his arrival had been a signal, the music inside the mountain abruptly stopped, though so far as Elrond could see, neither Galadriel nor Durin had made any sign. The echo of the last stamping foot fell away into silence.  Somewhere outside, a voice was chanting, a voice to chill the heart, not least because it was not simply filled with malice and woe, but because it was also recognisably the sound of Celebrimbor’s friend Annatar, whom Elrond, and Galadriel and Durin  himself had spoken with not so very long ago. It was a fair voice, but spoke words in a language that hurt to listen to. Elrond could see the glitter in Galadriel’s eyes as she listened.

Then Sauron’s voice, too, fell silent. 

And the voice of the mountain rose to a roar.  The walls shuddered, and Elrond felt an animal terror welling up inside him, and had to deliberately hold it back. Above them was a mountain of rock. If it fell, running would not help. 

But the rock held firm, and the mountain stilled again. There was no sound from outside the Westgate, and inside, a tense listening silence. Where was the Enemy?

Durin broke the silence, his deep voice clearly audible even at a distance. “A job well done!” he announced with enviable confidence and bowed to Galadriel.  “My thanks for your aid, my Lady.” He turned to his thanes and began calling orders. “Grerr, take your company and check along Nalin’s Way. Alfrigg, go up to the garrison at the Goatgate, and, Hili, you take the Adit of the Banded Jasper.  Find out what’s fallen and make sure we will have no more goblins climbing in through our shafts and windows.” He looked around the room and scowled ferociously. “Ah yes, and Vetri, check the map. Find the shaft or adit or whatever it is that I’ve forgotten.  I don’t want to know about it: just send someone to check that, too.” 

The tension broke like a pricked bubble at his words. The Dwarves began to move to their duties or turn to one another to talk, and Galadriel turned and met Elrond’s eye with a grave nod. Amdir of Lórien, who Elrond had not noticed at all, appeared at Elrond’s elbow in his grey cloak, as if he had been a shadow that had stepped suddenly into life. 

“Are you rested already, Elrond?” Amdir asked him lightly. “A fine set of bruises you have there still, with all the colours of sunlight on an autumn forest in the middle of a rainstorm!”

Elrond, reminded, put a cautious hand up to feel the bruise around his eye. “Are they? They still ache, but I am feeling much better.  I came to gather news, and arrived just in time to hear the battle fought. And what a battle! I wondered if the walls would cave in.” 

Amdir shuddered, and rubbed long hands across his eyes with a look of distress. “And so did I. These stone-burrows seem poor hiding-places, to me. I prefer the sky above me and room to run. Still, the Lady, the Dwarf-King and the Mountain have made some sort of alliance, and that’s all to the good. I would rather have the Mountain stand on my side than against me, if it must take a side at all.”

Elrond nodded, as Galadriel came striding up the steps towards them.  Unlike her daughter, she was wearing a long belted shirt of mail made of many shining scales over her white skirts. Her shoulder-guards were worked with the image of the Trees of Valinor, and her shining hair was woven in complex braids around her head like a crown of gold. She was smiling. 

“A joy to see you on your feet, Elrond,” she said. “The Enemy came to demand that you and Celebrimbor be returned to him, and the Rings also. We have given him a sharp answer and also taught him a lesson about lingering near the Westgate.”

“I’m glad to hear the answer was ‘no!’ Was that a landslide just now? Is the Gate blocked, then?”

Galadriel glanced down at the Gate below them, and frowned. “I hope not. We may need it yet. But the shape of the vale outside has  greatly changed, if Durin’s plans have grown the fruit that he hoped for.”

Amdir grimaced.  “Whether the Door is covered deep in rocks or not, I wish I were outside it!  Waiting in a cave for goblins to come tapping their way through the tunnels is not my kind of battle.  Give me a bow and room to shoot, and I will test whether the Enemy is proof against arrows.”

“And if he is?” Galadriel regarded Amdir with bright eyes that were understanding, yet stern. “His hosts are many and his own power is unmatched in Middle-earth, now that he wears the One Ring. I doubt that any arrow ever made could pierce him now, Amdir.”

Amdir threw up his hands. “Yet I would try it, if only to be under the free skies again!”

“You were grateful enough of my stone walls when the Enemy struck back at us, I seem to remember, Master Sinda.” Durin had come up the long stone steps to join them. He addressed Amdir with something of a twinkle in his eye. “I seem to remember you hurrying back through my Westgate just as swiftly as I did, when we sighted the new host coming towards us out of the West under their black banners.” 

Amdir rolled his eyes. “I will admit, O King of the Deep Places,  that just sometimes, there might be a time for caves,” he allowed. “But...”

Durin interrupted him goodnaturedly.  Once Durin had a thought that came to him, he voiced it straight away, no matter who else was speaking. Elrond found it somewhat disconcerting, but then, Durin was king of the oldest and proudest House of all the Dwarves. “I think your idea of arrows might be worth a try, after all,” he said now, and then with a glint in his eye, “Even if you did only bring it up to complain loudly about the lack of stars, my lord Amdir.”  

Amdir made a loud protesting noise, but from his expression, this was a game that both he and Durin were well used to playing. Durin ignored him entirely and went on.

“Just because it has not been done before, doesn’t mean it won’t work.  I said that when we made the arches in the Fiftieth Hall, if you remember, Galadriel, and I was right then.”

“You were,” Galadriel admitted. “I have no wish to sit here waiting if there is a choice. But I can feel the Enemy’s mind.  He has drawn off a little way for now, and I do not think he will hurry back to the gate immediately. But he is grown very strong.” 

“I’ll get our smiths onto arrow-making,” Durin said.  “The Elvensmith can advise us. If anyone can tell us of the powers of the One Ring and how to circumvent them, then that person is Celebrimbor of Eregion.” 

“Be wary,” Galadriel warned him quietly.

Durin tugged at the end of his beard, and scowled. “I intend to be.”

“He is asleep,” Elrond said, “I would be grateful if you did not wake him. He has endured too much.” 

“Yes, I had noticed that, funnily enough” Durin’s face was grim. “ Whether we can trust him now or no, he was my friend. No: he _is_ my friend. The Enemy’s fair mask is gone and we can all see now how ugly he is underneath it. Celebrimbor would never serve him willingly.”

Galadriel sighed. “He is my friend too. But he has been very close to Sauron for a very long time. Whether his will is entirely his own is something that even he may not know for certain.” 

Durin glared up at Galadriel, and then, abruptly, nodded. “I need no lessons in caution from the Noldor,” he said, and laughed abruptly. “Elrond. I had hoped that if the kinsman of both Celebrimbor and the Lady Galadriel came to visit my halls, it would be to enjoy a great feast, with song and much rejoicing. Not like this. Our count against this Enemy grows long.”

“Believe me, I could not have been more grateful to see your gates under any other circumstances,” Elrond assured him.  “But I cannot stay long. As long as Celebrimbor and I are within your gates, the Enemy will not rest. I have left my own host in the North.  I should return to them.”  

“The Mountain will hold him for a while,” Durin told him, and around him, on a level deeper than sound, the rock vibrated very slightly in agreement. 

“A formidable friend,” Elrond observed. 

Durin laughed. “Some of our mountains are not so friendly.  I would not wake Caradhras unless I had no other choice, for if Caradhras is roused, blood will spill, as the old saying goes. But good old Zirak — Celebdil, in your speech —  he is not so fierce. We raise our children under his great flanks, and he is kindly unless sorely provoked. Stay with us a little while longer, Amdir, Elrond, Galadriel. We should take counsel before you all scatter again like leaves in autumn, and I am inclined to do that in the proper chamber among my thanes, rather than loitering here upon the steps after a battle. We meet tomorrow at dawn.”

Elrond bowed low, in the dwarvish manner, and a startled beat later, so did Amdir.  Galadriel only smiled and nodded. Regally, Durin nodded back, gestured to three of his waiting thanes to follow him, and went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I no longer have any idea how many chapters this will be. Bear with me!


End file.
